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ignition. The engine turned over with what was left in
its gas tank. There was enough headroom to accomodate his helmet. It would do.
He got out and poured part of his jerry can into the gas tank. All told, he
had enough fuel for a round trip of sixty miles or so.
Ochs played navigator with a computer map. Nathan Lee followed his directions.
Where the avenues were clogged with dead cars or had flooded with water, Ochs
found him alternate routes.
Together they reached a cozy neighborhood landscaped with poplars and Japanese
blood grasses.
Compared to the tangle of highway metal and burned malls, this was a quiet
haven. A car lay overturned on one lawn. Another stuck partway out of a closed
garage door. To the very end, men had needed the feel of a steering wheel in
their hands. If they couldn t drive fate, at least they could drive a Ford.
 1020 Lakeridge Road, Ochs spoke in his ear.  Used brick, split level. A
weathervane with a rooster.
 There it is.
 Tell me what you re seeing, said Ochs.  You re my eyes.
Nathan Lee was grim.  What am I doing here? In two hours of tortuous driving,
there had not been one sign of healthy survivors. Carcasses and wandering
angels, yes. Otherwise, it was a wild goose chase. Or a trap.
 Go inside, Ochs said.  Talk to me. I want to know everything.
Nathan Lee turned the voice off. He went to the front door between waist-high
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Kentucky bluegrass. A
nylon flag with a butterfly jutted from a porch mount. A terracotta sun hung
by the door. Wind chimes rustled.Home Sweet Home, said the mat.
He knocked on the door. His gloved fist didn t make a sound. His motions were
dense and slow. He heard himself breathing.
The door was unlocked. Inside, the house looked ready forBetter Homes and
Gardens. Lydia s touch.
Flower petals had fallen to colorful powder on the white doily under a vase.
The house looked lived in, but not lived in enough. It was too tidy. There
were no daily messes. No temporary piles. No pairs of little sneakers shucked
by the door. Everything was arranged. Like a shrine.
The Suzuki book on the piano had Grace s name printed on the cover. Her
fingers had touched the keys.
Nathan Lee could barely hear the notes under his gloved fingers.
The evidence mounted. Artwork from Alameda Elementary was taped to the
refrigerator: a bird, a tree, a house with little girls watering flowers. Her
signature in capital letters. The freezer held melted popsicles.
Nathan Lee s breathing grew louder. He tried not to think. She had been here.
A bulletin board on the wall: family snapshots. There was Lydia beaming her
100-watt smile beside a sturdy burgher of a man with a prosperous belly. Lydia
had landed herself a provider, no more globe hoppers. No more losers. The
husband even resembled her brother. They looked self-content. Nathan
Lee scanned lower.
Grace was missing two lower teeth. A straw hat shadowed her eyes. Nathan Lee s
hand moved over the snapshots, finding all the Graces, speaking her name each
time inside his helmet. By a waterfall, at the swimming pool, on a mountain
trail with a basket of tiny strawberries. She had her mother s smile and
Nathan Lee s narrow face. For the most part, she was her own woman.
He stood by the bulletin board. His heart felt caved in. It should have been
him in those photos. Those
should have been his shoulders she was sitting on, his hand receiving the
bouquet of dandelions. That should have been his head bearing the silly
pointed birthday cap. It was the one reality he d really ever wanted, and here
he was viewing another man who had lived his life.
Nathan Lee went into the basement. That would be the most logical hideout. He
would have taken her into the mountains or desert. But if you were going to
stay, you would probably burrow deep. Absurdly, he imagined a whole warren of
tunnels connecting the suburbs, and families of survivors faring happily
beneath his feet.
The basement was finished with flowered wallpaper and a tiled floor. There
were no trap doors, no mounds of dug dirt. He climbed the stairs to the second
floor and found Lydia s husband in the master bedroom.
The suicide was nothing ugly. The man had overdosed himself, laid down on the
coral and beige down comforter, and gone to sleep. Lydia was not with him. She
was a mother. She would be with her child.
Nathan Lee went down the hallway and came to the last door. It was going to be
her bedroom. Full of dread, he saw his hand reach for the knob. The door
opened.
The bed was empty. It was her room, but Grace was not here. His hopes
zigzagged. She d done it again!
he thought. Lydia had cheated her man. He could see her fleeing with Grace,
leaving the dumb husband to put himself down. For the first time, he was
grateful for Lydia s treacherous ways. She just may have saved Grace. His
quest was not over.
He sat on the bed. Her walls were pink. There were dozens of dolls neatly
ranked on shelves, mostly blond. He reached for a hairbrush on a small vanity
and unwound a long golden strand from the bristles.
Slowly his eyes strayed back to the dolls, and their unnatural tidiness. Not
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one thing was out of place.
Not one doll was missing. He went to the window and looked into the backyard.
It was like dying.
From the kitchen window, he had been unable to see them, hidden by the high
grass. But from here, the two white crosses were prominent. Lydia s husband
had buried them before taking his own life.
Nathan Lee found himself among the grasses with no recall of descending the
stairs nor leaving the house.
He knelt by the cross that said,  Grace. He turned on his radio.
Ochs was livid.  Where have you been?
 I found them, said Nathan Lee.  I found their graves.
 Graves? Thank God.
 They re dead, Ochs.
 Of course they re dead, Ochs said.  It s Denver. But they were buried.
That s the important thing. He sounded overjoyed.
 What s wrong with you? Nathan Lee shouted. His rage welled up. Ochs was the
least of it.God. The cold lizard. This abyss.
 How do you know it s them? Ochs calmly asked.
 The markers. He woodburned their names. Nathan Lee could scarcely hear his
own words.
 You ve done it! Ochs said.  Easy, now. We re almost home.
Lydia s husband had placed the graves on a slight rise in the backyard. It had
a view of the Rockies. He had mounded the graves and seeded them with flowers.
Nathan Lee s jealousy dwindled. The man had been a good father to his
daughter. He had done a credible job here.
 Are you still there?
 Yes.
 Listen to me, Nathan Lee. Are you listening?
 I m here.
 Do you love Grace more than anything in the world?
How long ago had they died? Nathan Lee wondered. The paint on the crosses was
blistered from the elements. But the sunflowers and daisies were immature.
They had not gotten a full season to grow. The seeds must have been planted
midsummer or later. August, he guessed. There would have been time for him to
reach her, if only he had known.
 You need to love her with all your heart, Ochs was saying.
 You could have just told me, said Nathan Lee.  I wasn t after you. Now he
saw it. Ochs had baited him to his death. The soldiers would leave without
him. Ochs was free. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]